Liberscribes-Poetry-Poetry about women-Poetry about a girl

The girl

It’s her, the girl who speaks the language of poetry
She who knows how to mess up with me when we disagree
But comes back later to blow me a kiss with no explanation at all.
The girl who has answers to questions I never ask
The one I want next to me when my days grow old.

It’s her, the girl who speaks with charm making use of so much profanity
And knows exactly how to choose her words, so wise
Making sure they harm not my crazy ego of man.

It’s her, the girl who checks more on my mamma
Than I do, knowing what she means to me even if
I never want to admit ’cause I am a grown man I say
Believing showing mamma as my vulnerability is weakness.

It’s her, the girl who makes sure I eat despite our fights over trifles
‘Cause she knows the little boy inside of me cares not about food
And I often forget that to be I must bite in something from time to time.

It’s her, the girl who reads and thinks deeply,
A specimen going extinct in a mad world
Where what you look like is more important than
What you are deep inside with the values you embrace,
She who never loses sight of what matters the most
And makes it a priority to be a difference by staying true
When everybody else has decided unknowingly to be a fraud.

It’s her, the guardian of my darkest secrets
She who knows enough to write a book, a masterpiece of chaos,
A fair representation of what my life really is
But never allows herself to snitch ’cause
Loyalty is a value only embraced by the bravest.

Paterne Freeman Shadowriter, Wild and Free, Poetry Volume

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